The moon was bright enough to make the steel of Aveloria's armor glint each time her horse shifted under her. The night air was cold. This was her first patrol outside the safety of the capital walls, the first time she rode not as the king's daughter, but as the heir of Lycanthria, leading soldiers through dangerous lands.
The armor weighed more than she had expected. Every movement reminded her she wasn't used to such gear. But she refused to show discomfort. She had insisted on this mission; she wouldn't let anyone think she wasn't capable.
Galen rode beside her, calm and steady, his wolf eyes constantly scanning the woods ahead. The soldiers followed behind them in a tight formation, twenty trained fighters, handpicked by Trovald himself. Their horses' hooves barely made a sound on the forest path.
"You look different in armor," Galen said after a long silence. His voice was low but clear. "Not bad…just…different."
